Like A Song
by Lolsome-o-sis girl
Summary: [John/Sherlock] But, once again, however, John descends into silence once the last of the lyrics fade away, dissipating in the air. Just like last time, he's reduced to having nothing to say. What is he supposed to say? He's just sung a romantic duet with someone he's never met - hell, someone he's never even seen.


**Like A Song.**

 _Fandom: Sherlock_

 _Rating: K+_

 _Genre: Humor, Romance_

 _Pairing: John/Sherlock_

 _Word count: 4529_

 _Summary: [John/Sherlock] But, once again, however, John descends into silence once the last of the lyrics fade away, dissipating in the air. Just like last time, he's reduced to having nothing to say. What is he supposed to say? He's just sung a romantic duet with someone he's never met - hell, someone he's never even seen./_ _"You have a nice voice," he says lamely, before silently cursing himself, gathering up his phone and ducking out of the cubicle before his duet partner can beat him to it._

* * *

 **AN: Eh. I don** **'t know. I'm just in a Johnlock mood after watching the unaired pilot with flat 215, and I felt like finishing this off and posting it. Enjoy.**

 **DISCLAIMER. I own nothing.**

* * *

" _Girlfriends and Suitors_?"

"Yeah!" Mary insists, drawing a line across the whiteboard she has just finished writing on. John still isn't sure how she manages to keep getting the keys to let them in to the disused drama hall when everyone else is in the lecture building, but Mary has many ways of getting what she wants. Right now, a group of around twenty of them, both friends and potential auditionees, are slouched on the makeshift stage, legs dangling over the edge, as Mary points at the aforementioned whiteboard in front of them, the words " _Girlfriends and Suitors: a romantic comedy_ " scrawled across it in green pen.

"It's a rom-com musical," Mary explains. "Written by yours truly."

"Uh hu." Lestrade raises an eyebrow. "What exactly is it about?"

"It's the classic format, Lestrade. One that you can't go wrong with. Two people meet, fall in love, but something keeps them apart, until, _finally_ , they realise that they were always meant to be." She taps the whiteboard again. "The story follows Josie, a young girl coming from the English countryside to the big city, where she meets Henry, a detective investigating a string of murders -"

"Sounds cheerful."

A glare silences anymore interruptions. "It _is_ , trust me. Anyway, they're complete opposites, people that, by all conventional means, shouldn't be together, but they start to realise that they are _meant for each other._ " She emphasises the last four words, before grinning at the hopeful-looking auditionees. "I can't give away too much, as of yet, but it's going to be great. Sides for next Tuesday's auditions are by the door, make sure you sign your name when you take one, and I wish all of you the best of luck." She claps excitedly. "Okay, guys, that's it, meeting dismissed."

"Waste of time," Anderson mutters from the back of the room. John notices Sally slapping him across the back of the head to get him to be quiet. He's not entirely certain why those two actually turn up to these meetings - maybe it's because of Lestrade. The three of them always seem to be stuck together, no matter where they are.

"Actually, John?" Mary turns back to the group, inclining her head towards a more secluded area of the room. "Can I, er, have a quick word?"

"Okay." John lightly drops down from the stage, and moves towards her, in order to avoid being overheard. "What's up?"

"I need a favour from you - y'know, as my vice president."

John rolls his eyes. Mary is the self-proclaimed president of the St. Bartholomew's University drama society, which naturally, according to her, means that he is vice president via association and that he should take his responsibility _very_ seriously, something that John never does.

"Sure. Fire away."

"I need someone to record demo tracks for the auditionees, something for them to listen to when preparing. And I was wondering if you would - oh, come on, please!" She interrupts herself at the look on his face. "You're the best singer I know! And you wouldn't have to get up on stage and sing in front of the audience or anything, if you're uncomfortable with that. The only people who hear the demo tracks will be me and the people auditioning, and I won't even tell them that it's you. Please, John. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't serious." She lowers her voice from Anderson's prying gaze, coming from the other side of the room. "I got an email this morning, from the secretary of _Charles Magnussen_. He's interested in coming to see the opening night."

"Charles Mag - Who?"

" _Who?_ " Mary echoes, her excitement momentarily evaporating to make room for disbelief. "Charles Magnussen! He's a famous director; he's done all of those blockbuster films. Remember _Pressure Point_? That was a classic!" John still looks confused, and so Mary rolls her eyes and continues. "Anyway, he's a big name in Hollywood - and he's coming to see my show. If he likes it, this could be massive for my future career path in the industry. It could kick-start me in the direction that I need." Her eyes are pleading now. "Please, John."

John sighs. Mary is his best friend, and has been for many many years. Neither of them have ever been able to say no to helping the other out, and both of them are aware of this.

Which is how he ends up huddled in a tiny toilet cubicle, phone balanced on the tank lid, his earbuds crammed into his ears as he listens to the backing track that Mary has downloaded and studies the song lyrics in front of him, the ones for the audition song. Not the most hygienic place in the world, granted, but his dignity already seems to have vanished, and so he may as well follow the yellow brick road all the way to the end. Besides, no one would think to look for him in here; unless it is to sit in on one of Mary's drama society meetings, neither Lestrade or Anderson ever venture towards this side of campus, and Mary herself respects his privacy too much to snoop him out.

He restarts the backing track with a sigh. The longer he keeps his mouth clamped shut, the longer he'll have to stay in this bathroom. The longer he's here, the more chance there is that someone else will enter, and he doesn't want that to happen, not at all. He may as well just get on with it.

He finds the sound recorder app on his phone, and holds it up in front of him in order to get a better quality recording. It's not a very long audition song, merely a single verse and chorus, but it may as well have been a complete reading of H.G Wells' _War and Peace_ done through the method of song. The first time he tries, his voice is hoarse and quiet, scraping against the inside of his throat, and so John quickly deletes that recording, and tries again, closing his eyes to see if that has any effect. At least then, he can fool himself into thinking that he's standing in the shower, a safe distance from any prying ears.

He only makes it a few lines, however, when his ears start to pick up on outside sounds, some kind of echo coming from somewhere, almost like someone singing along with him.

John unhooks one earbud from his ear, listening, suddenly a little panicked.

Yep. That's not some echo of his own voice. That's definitely someone singing along.

It's a nice voice too, a deep musical baritone that is incredibly appealing. John's certain, from his first impressions, that he could go a whole day hearing this voice and not get bored of it. _Never_ get bored of it, in fact, even if it is the only voice he ever gets to hear again. If he could stop singing over it, he could truly appreciate it, but he's already halfway through the song, and now that he knows someone else is here, listening to him, he may not be able to start from the beginning, and so he keeps going. As does the pleasant voice from behind him.

Silence descends on them once the guitar riff playing through the earbuds has faded out, drawing the song to a close. John clears his throat, waiting to see if the other bloke is going say something. Anything.

Eventually, the door to the cubicle on the far end slams shut, and footsteps echo off the linoleum, passing John's own cubicle without pausing and sailing out of the door.

* * *

"One, two, three -!"

"What have I missed?" John slides into the seat next to Mary, laptop in hand, just as Jennifer Wilson begins to sing alongside Anthea's piano melody.

"Both a lot and hardly anything," Mary replies in a hushed tone, tapping the list of auditionees on her lap in front of her. "There's only so many times that you can hear the same song, after all." She nods along in time to the piano, a thoughtful expression on her face, clapping when Jennifer finishes her rendition of the song with a beaming smile. "She was pretty good, right?"

"Yeah," John replies dryly. "Great."

Mary swats at him playfully. "If you're not going to take this seriously, I'm going to sit somewhere else." She scribbles on her board, before calling out the next name. "Molly Hooper?" She smiles encouragingly at the shy brunette who has just entered the stage. "Whenever you're ready, Molly. Listen, John -" She continues talking in a hushed voice. "About the demo -"

"Yeah." He shrugs. "Should have said sorry in advance, shouldn't I?"

"What are you sorry for? It was brilliant. I was just wondering if you were up for doing the rest of them."

"Wh - Are you being serious?"

"Yes. I really want to work on this with you. You really are good, John, no matter what you might think." She raises an eyebrow. "Sure you don't want to audition yourself? You'd make a great Henry."

"Bloody hell no."

His best friend snorts. "Okay. Just checking."

* * *

"Who got the lead, in the end?"

That's the question John asks, two days later, when he catches Mary sticking the cast list up on the notice board outside of the disused drama room that really can't be counted as disused anymore.

"Janine Hawkes. She had the best take on Josie's character. Even _Anderson_ liked her."

"Wow. That's an achievement. Anderson doesn't seem to like anything that isn't Sally Donovan."

"Nothing short of a miracle, I know." Mary glances over her shoulder at him, smoothing down the corner of the A4 sheet. "Speaking of miracles, how are the songs going? Thanks again for agreeing to do them, by the way. All the auditionees that I've spoken to liked your demo last time, so it seems like you've built up a bit of a fanbase in your career as my second-in-command."

"Right, yes, the songs," John replies, after a moment of blinking. "They're, er, they're great. Really great."

"Yeah." Mary raises an eyebrow. "So, basically, what you're trying to tell me is you haven't done any since we last spoke, have you?"

"I have!" John protests, sounding way too defensive to be convincing. It's not his fault that his medical studies are so complex, and that they require time out of his everyday life. "I'll even bring one to the start of rehearsals tonight."

Mary grins. "Right. Whatever you say."

* * *

John finds himself hoping that his impromptu duet partner will come back.

He doesn't.

Instead, he finds himself singing the jaunty opening number by himself, something that oddly disappoints him. Because whilst there is no one around to overhear him, the sound of his voice alone sounds incomplete in the silence of the toilets, and it jars him. Which is completely ridiculous, of course, because he doesn't know this guy, the owner of the melodic voice, doesn't even know what he looks like. He certainly shouldn't be trailing into rehearsal, later that evening, a slump in his shoulders because he hasn't had the pleasure of hearing it again. Christ, he's _not_ some twelve year old girl.

Mary's stood in the centre of the stage when John enters the room, deep in conversation with Janine. She's brought out her director's microphone, the one made out of sugar paper, something that manages to bring a smile to his lips, despite his cringe-worthy disappointment; Mary insists on carrying it around with her every time that she's involved with a production. It's well-worn with age now, having been first introduced back in the days of high school.

"John!" He gets waved up on stage the moment that his best friend spots him. "I'm glad you're here. I need a hand with a few things. Hang on one sec' - Anderson?" The blonde looks over her shoulder, motioning to Sally's boyfriend, who is skulking quietly in the corner. "Can you stand in for the moment? I need someone to read Henry's lines whilst we figure out the staging."

Anderson huffs, as if this is some kind of great sacrifice to him. In his mind, John reckons, it probably is. "Why do _I_ have to do it? Greg is the freak's best buddy."

" _Freak_?" John questions.

"Don't be so bloody rude!" Mary says in response to the degrading comment, whacking Anderson on the back of the head, before answering John. "Sherlock Holmes. The guy we cast as Henry. He's hardly ever around during rehearsals, not if last year is anything to go by."

John raises an eyebrow. "Didn't think you let unreliability slide."

"I don't. Not usually. But Sherlock Holmes is the best theatre performer I've ever come across in all of my high school, college and uni productions combined. He'll do great things for this performance."

"Even though he can't be bothered to show up?"

"When you are a director, you have to make sacrifices, and this is one I'm willing to make. Sherlock Holmes never turned up for rehearsals last year - remember, you were sick with the flu, and I called you on your sickbed, and was panicking over what was going to happen? - and then, on the night of the show, he simply stepped in and everything was perfect. He flowed around everyone else, like he'd been there since the start." She pauses. "I sound like I'm gushing, don't I?"

"Little bit, yeah."

"If you saw it, John, you would understand. There's a reason why I put my faith in Sherlock Holmes, when he turned up to the audition. There's a reason why I stick by him when Anderson likes to voice his obnoxious opinions about the guy." Her tone is firm as she speaks her next sentence. "He'll go far in the industry, I know it."

"I see," John replies, but the look on his face is still not impressed. In his mind, people should be committed once they've said that they'll do something, even if they don't want to do it. It's half of the reason why he's sticking with this singing thing. He promised Mary that he would help her, and he will follow through with it, regardless of how many times he has to hide in that same toilet cubicle.

And, as a matter of fact, several times after that conversation, John _does_ find himself back in that same cubicle. It's around a month into rehearsals that he's in there armed with a big romantic duet, the one that had, according to Lestrade, been based on Mary's breakup with Sebastian, three years prior. He wondered, at first, why she would want something so personal to be performed to others, but Mary had dismissed the claims, telling him that it was all part of the moving on process, and he couldn't argue with that.

He makes it to the end of the chorus, the end of what is supposed to be Josie's part, before he gets interrupted. It's the baritone voice again, echoing from a couple of cubicles away from his, just as pleasant and soulful as before. In fact, even more so now, John thinks, thanks to the lyrics. More than that, he likes the sound of their voices together, as a whole; John is not a West End singer, and would never claim to be, but, with the other voice hiding all of his nervous awkwardness, he can't deny that they sound more than decent when they come together for the final chorus.

But, once again, however, John descends into silence once the last of the lyrics fade away, dissipating in the air. Just like last time, he's reduced to having nothing to say. What is he _supposed_ to say? He's just sung a romantic duet with someone he's never met - hell, someone he's never even _seen_.

"You have a nice voice," he says lamely, before silently cursing himself, gathering up his phone and ducking out of the cubicle before his duet partner can beat him to it.

* * *

"You look tired."

"So do you," Mary says, as she shuts the door to John's room behind her and all but collapses down onto the floor, reaching into the nearby pizza box to tear off a chunk of peperoni.

"I'm not the one directing a musical," John replies, shuffling around on his desk, where he's been sitting for the past half an hour, in order to look at her. "How's that going, by the way? Sorry I haven't been around rehearsals much."

"It's fine. And they're going...well, alright, I suppose. As well as having Anderson filling in all the time can go." She lets out a sigh. "There's just so much added pressure now, what with Charles Magnussen coming on the opening night."

"How long have we got left to go?"

"Just over a month."

"Wh - _Really?_ "

"Yeah. I, er, I didn't want him to lose interest," Mary admits, helping herself to more of the pizza. "Opportunities like this don't come around every day, John. That's why I so appreciate your help on this one." She cards a hand through her blonde fringe, before raising an eyebrow at him. "What? What's that face for?"

"It's nothing."

"Nothing. Right. Remind me why I should be fooled by that for a second." She sends him a pointed look. "Come on, what is it?"

He's not going to escape scrutiny until he tells her something, he knows that.

"Do you think it's possible -" He starts, the word's sounding ridiculous, even to him. "- to have some kind of crush on someone's voice?"

Mary blinks for a moment. "Okay. I wasn't expecting that, not going to lie. Where's all of this coming from?"

"No where in particular. Just - something I was mulling over, I guess."

Again, she doesn't believe him. Her expression changes swiftly, and she grins. "John? Don't tell me you've _met someone_?"

"Not exactly. _Met_ is a strong word." He elaborates at her raised eyebrow. "More like overheard someone's voice and formed a weird attachment." She's still looking confused, and so he gives her a quick summary of events, leaving out the part about the whole thing taking place inside a toilet block. It wouldn't be much of a hiding place if everyone knew about it, after all.

"Well, it can't be Anderson, whoever it is," she says, once he's finished speaking. "Listening to him sing is like nails along a blackboard." They chuckle together. "I hope you join us for rehearsals again soon. I missed having you around. One can only take so much undiluted Anderson."

"I will," John promises.

Mary stays for another half an hour, making her way through another two slices of pizza before she heads off, back to the drama department for another late-night dance rehearsal. It's cold outside, much too cold for March, in his opinion, but John doesn't particularly care; he simply pushes the window open instead. The brisk air coming in is soothing, as he shuffles on the desk, so that he's facing the outside world, the other residence halls opposite his, the large oak tree in the centre of the grass, fairy lights threaded throughout the branches, as if it were a Christmas tree.

There's actually someone in the tree, he realises, after a moment, perched on one of the higher branches; it appears to be a guy, a year or so younger than John, nestled away in the trees, lit only by the fairy lights. As he watches, the guy shifts slightly, allowing John to notice the instrument sitting in his lap. It's only a few moments later that the sound of violin starts to filter through the window. John simply leans back against the wall, his forehead resting against the glass, lulled by the soft melody.

He doesn't realise that he's actually on the verge of falling asleep, until he suddenly finds himself waking a few hours later with an ache in his neck.

* * *

" _Henry -_ " Janine clutches the prop, a bloodied scarf, to her chest, cuddling it like a teddy bear. " _Don't do this - Please -_ "

Anderson glowers at her, his line sliding through gritted teeth. " _But, Josie, don't you see? This is how it has to be._ "

Mary lets out a sigh from the seat beside John. "I swear to God - Anderson!" She claps her hands. "For the last time! _Emotion_ -! Actually, you know what, take five. Go grab some coffee or something."

Anderson shrugs the trenchcoat from his shoulders, throwing it down to the ground. "Maybe if Freak actually turned up, I wouldn't have to do this," he says, not quiet enough to escape Mary's attention.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

"Thought so." She gives him a hard stare as he retreats backstage, before she lets out an exasperated noise. "Oh, God, I just - How are we going to pull this off if we don't even practise?"

"Has Sherlock Holmes still not turned up?"

"Nope."

"Are you sure about being able to relying on him?"

"Yes. Absolutely." Her tone is firm. "But, in the meantime, will you do me a favour?"

"I know what you're going to say." He levels her with a look. "Step in for Anderson. Yeah, I know that I don't have a choice."

"Actually, I was going to ask if you could grab me a bottle of water if you were going to the vending machine anytime soon." She grins at him. "But, since you're offering -"

John sighs, rising from his seat as she hands him a copy of the scene. "Don't think that I'm going to be better than Anderson."

"I highly doubt that you could be _worse,_ " Janine calls over, earning a smile from John himself, as he pulls Henry's coat on. "I have faith in you, John."

"As do I!" Mary props her feet up on John's now empty chair. "Okay...action!"

" _But it doesn't have to be!_ " Janine morphs into character, clutching at the arm of his coat, holding him in place. " _Henry - I know what I said at the morgue, about...us, but -_ " She cuts herself off with a rushed breath. " _I really - I think I -_ "

" _I doubt it._ " John interrupts her. " _It's an infatuation. Nothing more._ " That line hits a little too close to home than is really comfortable. " _It'll pass with time. It always does. That's the thing about ordinary people_." He pushes past her, heading off-stage, ignoring her character's cries. He leans against the side of the set once he's safely out of the way, watching Janine turn to face the centre of the stage, looking out over the seats where the audience will be sitting, struggling to hold back her tears as Anthea plays the opening notes of Josie's breakup ballad. She really is good. He can see why she got the lead.

Mary gives them both a thumbs up from her seat in the audience. Clearly she thinks so too.

* * *

"Oh, God -"

"Just calm down." John rests a hand on Mary's shoulder, trying to be comforting. They're stood backstage, watching the flurry of cast members and backing dancers dodge past them in their last preparations before the show begins. "It'll go fine. Just breathe. In, out -"

"I know how to _breathe_ , John." Mary rolls her eyes, but there's gratitude in her tone, silently thanking him for the distraction. "Are you sure that you don't want to go and sit in the audience? You're okay with watching from back here?"

"Of course. Besides -" He sighs, exasperated. "- my sister's here, and sitting backstage with you is better than sitting with her."

"Harry's here?"

"Yeah. Her new girlfriend is one of the backup dancers, so, naturally she came along tonight." John grimaces. "And, naturally, with Clara being in the show, she found out about my attempt at a singing career. She's actually made a CD called _Johnny W's One Hit Wonders_ , which will no doubt be circulated to the rest of the family. Don't laugh."

"I wasn't -"

"Yes, you were." John knocks her shoulder with his. "After everything I've done for you. I could chant this entire play backwards with the amount of times that I've stepped in for Anderson."

"Let's hope that it's paid off." Mary exhales slowly, and John pats her on the shoulder again.

"Everything will turn out fine," he assures her, before a new thought occurs to him. "Did Sherlock ever turn up?"

"Yeah." Mary makes a general gesture with her hand. "He's around here somewhere. With Janine last time I saw him."

"You think he'll pull it off?"

"After listening to him recite whole scenes perfectly? Yeah. He will."

"Ms Morstan?" The sound of a new voice makes both of them turn around. John feels Mary freeze beside him at the sight of the balding man in a sharp suit and glasses, watching them with interest. He holds out a hand to the blonde girl. "Charles Magnussen."

"Hi," Mary says, sounding like she's about to pass out, as she shakes his hand. "Uh, I, er, wasn't expecting to see you until after the show -"

"I thought it would gentlemanly of me to come by and wish you good luck." He gives her a smile, one that John finds a little off-putting, but he doesn't comment on it. "I've heard good things about you. I look forward to seeing the show." He nods to John, not bothering to inquire about him, before turning and sloping back towards the direction of the route that will take him back to the audience.

Mary turns to John as soon as Magnussen is out of earshot. "Holy sh - Oh, my - _Did that just happen?_ "

"Looks like it."

"Charles Magnussen - _Charles Magnussen_ \- knows who I am!"

John rolls his eyes at her starstruck expression. "I noticed. Do you want me to get you some water? You look like you're about to pass out any second, and then you won't be able to see your masterpiece come to life."

Mary checks the time on her phone, before nodding, a little shakily. "Yeah. Ten minutes to go until curtain up - don't really want to be absent from that."

John nods. "I'll be right back, then."

He leaves Mary by the wings, disappearing through the crowd, fighting his way towards the stash of water bottles that have been generously donated by Jennifer Wilson. Someone shoves past him, and he stumbles a little, stepping on someone else's foot, as he reaches the food table in the corner.

"Sorry, sorry -"

"Don't worry." A strong hand comes to rest on his shoulder, steadying him just as the baritone finally registers in John's ears. "It's fine."

 _That voice._

"John?" Mary appears from where he left her, glancing between her friend and the owner of the familiar voice. "Ah. See you've met Sherlock, then."

John blinks. "I'm sorry, what?"

Mary gestures to the bloke in front of them. "This is Sherlock Holmes. The one I was telling you about. Sherlock, this is John."

The bloke - Sherlock - raises his eyebrow, probably at the expression on John's face, although he still hasn't removed his hand from the other's shoulder. "Pleasure."

"Yeah," John echoes, clearing his throat to strengthen his voice, ignoring the confused look Mary is sending him. "Sure is. Pleasure."


End file.
